Mhila's Ascension
by NatOreN
Summary: Following a botched diplomatic approach, Inquisitor Mhila suffers a mental breakdown that ultimately leads her down a path of tyrannical conquest. A short series of one-shots depicting three events in the story's timeline from the perspective of various characters.
1. New Resolve

"How is she? Cullen asked the stoic elven woman standing guard outside the Inquisitor's chamber as he approached. The moonlight creeping in through the cracks in the tower kept to the less decorated half of her tattooed face, creating an even starker, more intimidating contrast.

"Silent," Silrani answered.  
Cullen waited in concerned silence for the woman to elaborate but, when no additional detail was forthcoming, he breathed a mixed sigh of frustration and relief. He was quite familiar with the elf's untalkative nature around humans, doubly so with templars, both of which could be applied to himself. It didn't matter that he was no longer a part of the Order, or that he was the last person who would ever wish harm upon the Lady Inquisitor. Silrani had given him the stinkeye when they first met at Haven, and it'd only gotten worse from then on.

"Well, at least I can trust she's unharmed with you guarding her door." Silrani had been the Inquisitor's clanmate, both hailing from the Dalish clan Lavellan in the Free Marches, and Cullen knew the two were close. She had come as Mhila's bodyguard for the Conclave, and followed her when she ended up joining the Inquisition.

"Quite." Cullen could've sworn her apathetic gaze was gleaming with deadly intent, one that grew stronger with every second he lingered.

"Would it be alright if I talked to her for a moment?" It had been days since anyone had seen the Inquisitor out of her room and, for a time, the castle courtyard had echoed with the sound of broken cries coming from the top of the tower. People were naturally worried about their leader's well-being; Cullen most of all.

"No," was the immediate response.

Cullen was hurt but unshaken. He would not be leaving without a peace of mind. "I'm afraid I must insist."  
Silrani looked unfazed and showed no signs of moving. As she spoke, however, her tone was that of pure contempt; "Insist all you want, _shemlen_. Your "Inquisitor" is grieving, and vulnerable. I will not allow your presence, or anyone else's while she recovers, unless explicitly requested by Mhila herself!"

"But we need her!" Cullen began feeling heated, frustrated by his inability to console his beloved or reason with the stubborn woman in front of him. "She's been locked in there for days! The Inquisition can't properly act if its leader is absent! Has she even eaten!?"

" _You_ do not get to make demands of _my_ friend," Silrani all but screamed in the ex-templar's face, her own contorted by a sudden and violent anger. "Mhila has already sacrificed enough for you and this godsforsaken Inquisition, and now our entire clan is dead! **_Dead_** ; because of self-absorbed humans like you, and because she believed they could be appealed to!"

"Don't pin this on me!" Now Cullen was truly angry and proceeded to shout back at his verbal opponent. "I argued to go there in force and beat the Marchers into submission if necessary! I wanted what was _best_ for your people; for Mhila!"  
The two glared at each other in volatile silence, as if stares alone could win battles, Silrani's hand gripping her longsword with restrained force. As muffled sobs started coming from the door behind them, they slowly withdrew their eyes, and Silrani removed her hand from her blade before returning to her position by the door, the seeping moonlight taking its original place on her visage.

"I wanted what was best," Cullen continued with a sombre voice. "But I didn't argue for it hard enough. Like a lovestruck fool I trusted the Inquisitor's decision, believing she was always right, no matter what. I couldn't see that she needed my guidance as much as I did hers, and now your clan has payed not only for her mistake but for mine..."  
Silrani said nothing. With arms crossed and no expression, she merely accepted the confession with a judging gaze, like a jailor watching a repentant murderer. And with that, Cullen turned to leave, the muffled sobs making his departure difficult.

As the heavy footsteps grew distant, Mhila's sobs slowly died out. She stared absentmindedly at her hands as they crumpled into fists on the tear-soaked floor. For a while she sat there, kneeling, watching her fists open and close, occasionally nudging or softly striking the stone underneath. She had heard the entire shouting match that occurred outside her door, and now something felt different.  
For gods-know-how-long she had felt nothing but sorrow; immense grief and mental anguish had dominated her mind for so long, it almost felt like she had never experienced anything else in her lifetime. But now, as the stinging of stiff knees was replaced by the grinding of teeth, she felt a new sensation.  
Walking back to her desk, she ran her eyes across the cursed letter;

 **** ** _slew most of the elves  
all of the Dalish clan  
willing to meet  
rebelled  
TRAGIC MISUNDERSTANDING_**

For the first time in her life, Mhila could feel the tight embrace of pure hatred. As she destroyed the crumpled paper with hellfire called from her palm, her entire body trembling with rage, she growled to herself;  
 _"Once my task is done, Corypheus will have been the least of your problems!"_


	2. Desperation

A deep vibration resonated across the plains, a mighty horn signalling the struggling Orlesian vanguard to fall back from the rain of fire pummeling their forces.  
"Retreat! Fall back to the ramparts," the commanders shouted to their soldiers over the sounds of battle. The casualties continued to rise as their enemy pressed the advantage and launched their forces into full pursuit, cutting down the broken formations at an alarming rate.

On a rock, overlooking the slaughter, stood an elf clad in black and gold. In her hand she held a majestic staff, radiating a brilliant light from its head. The woman bore an expression of malicious pride as she witnessed her army sweep across the field; yet another victory for the Inquisition. Her Inquisition.  
Just before her soldiers were in range of the enemy ramparts, she struck her staff against the rock and a large boom was carried through the earth towards the battlefield. The Inquisition soldiers stopped dead in their tracks and reformed their ranks just outside the fortifications, the scattered force once again taking the shape of an intimidating, black mass.

"They've stopped?" Confused voices arose within the ramparts, baffled by their foe's sudden pause.

"Reform the ranks! Archers to their positions," the Orlesian general barked, none too pleased with his army's efforts. "Not a single step back! We stop this army here!"

"What do you think, brother?" A woman with red hair addressed a man of identical appearance. She wore the armor and shield of the Templar Order, now defunct, with the insignia covered up by a cloth. He was dressed in fine leather garments, with a bow slung over his shoulder.

"I think I'd rather be at one of Lady Veronica's midnight balls, but I can't complain," Krestan replied with a playful grin. Unlike his sister, the man had a carefree air about him, the look of a man who cared little for the confines of order and formality.

"As if she'd ever give you the light of day, what with the neverending Orlesian "finery" she surrounds herself with. You're much to plain for her standards, brother."

"Oh, you wound me, Karina," Krestan cried in jest but his expression soon changed, almost as if struck by lightning, a hint of concern in his sky blue eyes. "But I suspect you're not in the mood for games, so; what troubles you, dear sister?"  
For a moment, Karina said nothing, trying to organize her thoughts as she gazed beyond the battlements, where scores of enemy soldiers awaited their Inquisitor's orders, black armor glinting in the sun.

"How did we come to this point?" Karina eventually spoke up, melancholy coloring her voice. "Ferelden conquered, Orlais under siege, and a treasured friend sits at the center of it all. I thought I knew her, that she was truly Andraste's Herald, even if she refused it herself... Now I don't know what to think."  
Krestan had no words for his twin sister. He was never particularly devout, and any religious belief he held felt more like compliance than faith.

"Do you suppose she's still doing the Maker's work? Maybe she is meant to punish the world for its many misdeeds..."

"I find that hard to believe. Why go through the trouble of saving the world from Corypheus, only to set it on fire the moment he's dead?"

Karina just stared at the battlefield in silence. She'd been feeling the doubt gnawing at her more and more every day; the uncomfortable feeling that there was no Maker, no life after death, just the empty void staring back at you.  
As the war-horns thundered all around her, she felt the cold hand of a long forgotten foe, gripping tight around her chest. "I'm scared, brother... I don't want to die."

"Me too, sister," Krestan gave Karina a half smile, visibly concerned by his sister's sudden breakdown. "My only advice is to trust in your sword-arm, and all should be well."

The fighting spirit within the ramparts was low as they prepared to meet the enemy's charge. Frightened whispers arose as a petite elven figure, with golden blonde hair, emerged at the head of the black horde.  
Mhila, the Inquisitor herself, had taken the field. Eyes burning with righteous fury.


	3. Resistance

"Get that lyrium moving, you sods, or I'll flay you myself," a deep voice growled in the dimly lit cavern, motivating the dwarven workers to move as fast as they could, without compromising the precious cargo. All around one could see glimpses of architecture in the darkness, hewn out of the stone itself.  
The people marching around in this ancient dwarven space were an odd mix; there were elves, dwarves, humans, and even the occasional qunari.

"I must thank you again for this kindness, ser Karon," a red-headed woman addressed the growling dwarf, whose face was covered with a full, red beard, and decorated so as to look like a geometric skull.

"Save your thanks, human. This alliance is one of convenience," the dwarf responded with a huff. "If it wasn't for the Inquisition's crackdown on smuggling, house Cadash would never have agreed to aiding you rebels."

"The dwarf speaks sense for once, Karina," a rugged elven woman interjected, her fully tattooed face no less intimidating than the dwarf's, although far more refined. "The Carta's cooperation is out of pure necessity. They'll be sure to stab us in the back the minute their need of us expires."

"Heh, a woman after my own heart." Karon answered Silrani's glare with a wicked grin.

"Look at me like that again, dwarf, and you'll be a head shorter than you already are."  
Karon's grin only grew bigger as he unstrapped the massive warhammer from his back. Dropping unto the ground with a loud cracking of stone, the weapon was easily capable of breaking bone through the thickest armor, when swung with full force. The dwarf grasped the hammer and slung it over his shoulder with unnatural ease. "Ladies first."

As Silrani was about to draw her blade, a distraught dwarf came running through the tunnel from which the caravan had come.

"Rear guard reports a strong Inquisition force in pursuit!"

"How many?" Karon instantly stopped caring about the earlier squabble and became entirely focused on the developing threat.

"Numbers are unclear. Most of the scouts were obliterated."  
Karon furrowed a brow but said nothing. It was highly unusual for one of his operations to lose more than one or two scouts. "Hilda, scout ahead, make sure we're safe moving forward," he turned to a hooded dwarven lass at his back. The woman saluted with a fist to her chest and vanished into the shadows. "The rest of you; protect the shipment with your lives! I want that lyrium in Rivain by morning, or heads will roll!"

"And what will you be doing, _ser dwarf_ ," Silrani asked with a judging gaze, convinced that the man was up to something.

"I'll be staying here, watching out for your sorry asses."

"You're going to take on an entire force by yourself?" Karina asked with genuine concern, while Silrani struggled to keep down a chuckle. "Surely, you must need some assistance."

"I've got all the assistance I need right here," Karon patted his hammer and glared. "You'd just be in my way."

"Suit yourself," Silrani shrugged and gestured for Karina to follow after the caravan, then waved to Karon dismissively. "Try not to get squished."  
The dwarf ignored the mocking and headed in the opposite direction, but kept a constant watch on his back as he walked.

After a short while of waiting, the echo of frantic footsteps could be heard coming up the tunnel. As the noise got closer, Karon could make out the bulky outline of a qunari, one of the rebel soldiers stationed with the Carta's own men at the rear.

"She's here! She's-GYAAGH," the qunari called out as he spotted Karon, just before he was electrocuted by a sudden bolt of lightning, seeming to appear out of nowhere.  
A moment longer and Karon could see a pair of eyes staring at him from the darkness a little further down the tunnel, like that of a predator stalking its prey.

"Impressive," he called out to the unseen figure. When it did not respond immediately, Karon continued. "I was certain this operation was as secret as it could possibly be. You've either got very good spies, or you're a lot closer to these rebels than the world might think."

"... I have very good spies," the figure eventually answered, realizing there was no further point in keeping to the shadows, and headed towards the dwarf standing out in the open.

"Good to know this was not the rebels' betrayal of my kind gestures, then. But this is as far as you go. This is one smuggling operation you will not be stopping."

"I destroyed your pathetic excuse for a rear guard and barely lifted a finger," the figure scoffed as it drew closer. Karon could now make out a very petite but imposing outline. "A lone dwarf will be no challenge."

"Ah, but I'm more than just some lone dwarf," he sneered, unimpressed by the intruder's grandstanding. "I am Karon of house Cadash. And, like everybody else, you'll learn not to cross me, _Lady Inquisitor Mhila_."  
The individual was now standing just a few feet away from him, her armor composed of a dark leather coat. She wore a golden chest plate adorned with the Inquisition's sigil; gauntlets, jagged like a demon's hands; and sabatons of an equally menacing appearance. A beautiful staff rested in her right hand, and at her hip hung a sword's hilt, bereft of a blade.

"Your name is of no interest to me, dwarf. It'll be nothing more than a forgotten sound after today," Mhila raised her staff and prepared a spell, illuminating the cavern with a bright sphere of rainbow trimmed light.

"We'll just see about that," Karon gripped both hands around the shaft of his hammer and sprinted at the hostile mage. The pace was faster than Mhila anticipated but she nimbly avoided the hammer as it came crashing down, and in the blink of an eye was at Karon's back.  
Unfazed, the dwarf used the hammer as a pole to quickly rotate himself by swinging around it, then used the momentum to pull his weapon into a wide swing. The impact's echo felt like it would never end, repeating itself infinitely throughout the vast underground ruin.

"It's a pity, Inquisitor," Karon glared into the eyes of the elf now standing right on top of his hammer, her face as void of interest as the stone itself, betrayed only by the eyes that could just as well be shooting actual lightning. "We could've been good friends. House Cadash would be more than happy to work with your Inquisition. For a good price, of course."

"I am not interested in the services of criminals and traitors," Mhila responded before summoning fire from her out-thrust hand, engulfing the dwarf entirely. Suddenly, she felt the hammer yanked from under her, and she jumped back to a safe distance just in time.

"Heh, that tickled a little harder than usual," Karon sneered through the pain as he emerged from the flames. Dwarves were known for their resistance to magic, and Karon knew himself to be tougher than most, but this was not an experience he thought wise to repeat. "It seems the stories about you are not quite the exaggeration I expected them to be."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, especially the mocking kind." Mhila drew the bare hilt from her belt, uttering a quick incantation. Now she was wielding a radiant sword of pure light in her left hand. "Those get you killed." She bolted forward, blade poised to strike. Karon just barely dodged the initial swing, and parried the second with merely a hair's width to spare. As the third came down, he dropped the hammer and rolled out of the way, evading the attack by inches, or so he thought.  
Believing himself to have widened the gap between them by a few feet, at least, he was proven deadly wrong when his foe emerged right in front of him, as if out of a fog. He had no time to think as the blade swung at his throat, leaving him no alternative but to try and block it with his arm.

"NOW," he called out as he reeled from the blow, clutching his injured limb, and Mhila moved in for the kill. Just before it struck home, there was a rush of wind and before the Inquisitor stood a hooded dwarf woman, her knife blocking the luminous sword. Before she could react to the newcomer, the dwarf deployed a smokescreen and Mhila was forced back. The smoke covered a lot of ground but she was quick to exit, expecting an ambush from within. However, by the time it dissipated, there was no sign of either of them. The dropped warhammer was missing as well.  
Before she could pursue them, the sub-terrain was rocked by a powerful explosion. Mhila stared on in anger as the path forward was sealed by the resulting cave-in.

"Enjoy your borrowed time while you can. You can't run from me forever." With a scowl she returned the hilt to its place at her side and headed back for the surface.


End file.
